Objects Of His Obsession Read Online Free PDF Page A

come to my chambers, and I too will have a lover … if only
for the night … and perhaps the night after that, and the next.”
    Benedict stared at him
speechlessly. He didn’t know what shocked him more, that stark, sexual
proposition, or the knowledge that the exquisite, angelic Duchess of Casterwell
had a lover amongst their throng whom she enjoyed most nights.
    Just who the hell was that
lover?
    Benedict had never heard one
shred of gossip about Juliana St John.
    Or perhaps he just hadn’t been
listening for it?
    His eyes searched the
beautiful, tough male face before him. He longed – oh Christ, how he
longed, to say yes–
    Evander gave a brief, wry
laugh. Rubbed a palm against the stubble on Benedict’s jaw and slapped him on
his black-clad shoulder before turning away and strolling towards the high,
broad double doors.
    He opened one a degree and
turned to shoot Benedict a mocking, blue eyed glance. “You’re not used to these
games, are you, man? You’ve spent too damned long amongst the sand and dead
things. Come to my rooms tomorrow night and spend some time amongst the living.
It would appear you have a talent for it.”

 
Chapter Three
    Just when had that damned
obsession started … but Benedict knew. He was midway through his second year at
Oxford, and he been making his way across the quad at Magdalen. It had been a
beautiful day, but he, as ever, had been distracted.
    A small knot of youths had been
strolling towards him, one scarcely hiding a bottle of wine beneath his coat.
    And one, their leader, clearly,
was the most striking man Benedict had ever seen.
    It was summer. He was wearing a
light colored suit, the bright light licking a raven’s wing sheen into his
thick, waving hair. As they strolled towards Benedict, his own arms full of
books, the beautiful youth’s hands were thrust casually into his trouser pockets.
Evander had glanced up. Turquoise blue eyes had blazed, briefly, in that lean,
olive skinned face. Those eyes had held Benedict’s arrested honey-brown ones,
Evander’s beautifully molded cleft chin lifting a degree as he gripped Benedict
with that blazing blue stare.
    And then they’d passed one
another and the moment was gone.
    Benedict would come to see
Evander here and there. The man was already, in his first year, a star in the
firmament of the college. Benedict heard that academically the man was brilliant,
if lazy, which had stunned his tutors, expecting the only son of a duke to have
better things to do than be interested in books. But he was also a sensualist.
Hedonist. Apparently knew every gaming hell to be found, kept a string of
mistresses. Threw drunken gatherings in his rooms that others crowded to.
    And every story Benedict heard
only fed his appetite for more.
    He wanted to be drawn into that
circle around the glittering star that was Evander.
    And he had been, briefly.
    Before Evander, his one true
obsession had been archaeology. Had been since he was eight and his grandfather
had given him two small shabti figurines and a heart scarab, both ancient
Egyptian grave goods, plundered God knows when, part of his grandfathers small
collection of ancient artifacts. A collection that had fascinated Benedict for
years. And given him, ultimately, his true obsession in life.
    That true obsession that had
been his sole one until that blazing, blue eyed stare in the quad.
    And his obsession with that
moment damned near drove out all else.
    It was then that he truly began
to suspect that he was, indeed, one who preferred men.
    Because hard as he fought it,
he could not get Evander St John out of his mind. Or his dreams, which were
becoming increasingly erotic. Troubling. It had been a huge relief to leave
during the break and go assist on his first dig in Egypt.
    ~~***~~
    Both the men and women were
playing at archery.
    The day had indeed turned out
sunny, as one would expect for any social occasion arranged by the Duke and Duchess
of Casterwell. Sunny, yet not too